Yesterday at Whole Foods, I picked up a bright yellow lemon and felt like I was taking my life into my gloved hand.

But I have a lot of those moments now. I’m about to do something so ordinary like kiss my husband when he comes in from work, or grab the railing up the steep steps to the forest trail. Then I don’t. The kiss becomes this awkward attempt at connection, because who knows what particles Mark picked up that day, alone in his office. (He still breathed the air in the hallway, right?) And as much as I want to pull myself up those stairs, my hand stops in mid-air and retreats.

World, we are scared. We are freaked out by this Coronavirus that is threatening to come for our asthmatic lungs, our dads in nursing homes, our elderly neighbors, and even our 21-year-old sons (thank you, Phinny), who bravely make the CVS run for our inhaler prescriptions without knowing what aerosol particles are lurking around some asymptomatic, but infected, customer.…

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